Audience As Abstraction
From day one, Scribblings and Bibblings has been little more than a conversation with myself. I knew that the hypothetical visitors who managed to find their way here were unlikely to become interested enough to bother returning. My infrequent updates, and the resultant dearth of content, guaranteed this. I didn't care. I plodded on, content in my indifference, until the impending renewal date of my web hosting contract came to the forefront of my consciousness during the 2nd quarter of 2011. At the time, my uncertainty over whether or not I could afford this morphed into a kind of imaginary alarm with no off switch. A klaxon blaring in my head, growing in urgency with every passing day as the deadline crept closer. It was ridiculous. I had little cause for worry. I could go on as I always had and simply create new content exclusively for myself. That certainly wouldn't have differed much from how I ran things thus far. After all, hardly anyone had visited this site since I launched it two years earlier, yet, perversely, the prospect of going officially offline filled me with dread. Why? Because the possibility that whatever I posted might — however unlikely — reach someone else is largely what drew me to create a website in the first place. Well, duh, you might be saying. That's the reason, other than commerce, anyone decides to create a page or a blog or what have you. The thing is, I got into this venture knowing that there was little chance I would ever gain any sort of following, and that even if I did, that my approach was, and continues to be, to please myself first, others second, if at all.
I remain cognizant of, and comfortable with, S&B's unremarkable lack of visibility. If more people gave a damn, let alone noticed, there's a good chance I would fold under the pressure to meet their expectations. And when it comes to external expectations, less is more. In spite of this place's obscurity, it is the possibility of an audience that makes this endeavor so exciting; however, the all but certain knowledge that few (as in a handful of people) will ever visit my little corner of the web turns this possibility into something distinctly abstract. The notion of anyone actually paying attention is a bit like the idea of meeting one's soul mate: seductive, optimistic (though considerably less quixotic), undeniably egocentric to the point of narcissism (not that I need an audience for that conceit), and consistently invigorating; certainly, more so than slaving over something and sticking it in a drawer.
To me, this place represents a kind of beacon of my own idiosyncratic ideas codified in the forever unfinished whole you see before you. By staking my claim here I feel as though I am protecting my core beliefs and original thoughts (such as they are) against the onslaught of commentary and popular opinion that can sometimes feel overbearing for the following reasons:
- It's Not X! It's Y!:
When there is too much agreement regarding certain subjective forms of expression, such as film or art, I sometimes recoil against the consensus of popular opinion upon which such things are weighed. I occasionally feel this way, even when I agree with the prevailing judgement on a topic.
For example, most people regard The Sopranos as a prototypical example of excellence in television, and I tend to agree… but only so far as the first three seasons are concerned. After that, it becomes unravelled by common problems that have adversely effected many a show: rehashed plot lines, inconsistent characterization, pointless story threads, plot holes, improbable situations within the framework of the show, basically all the hallmarks of pimping. My point is that not many hold this view, and I therefor have to make my case (theoretically in this instance, since I'm still too lazy to post a full write-up) in the off chance someone else might feel the same way. And even if no one agrees with me, that fact alone will not change my outlook or deter my need to rail against the tide of popular opinion when I find myself in the extreme minority on a given topic I actually give a damn about. - A Case of “Almost, but not quite”: Moreover, when I do find that my ultimate opinion of something is comparable to that of the majority, my reasons for feeling this way sometimes differ notably from those of the masses. It is during these instances that the urge to speak up may sometimes rise forth. For instance, although Final Fantasy 6 is widely lauded, one often overlooked element that makes it so memorable is that it generously develops its large ensemble of characters more than most other Final Fantasy titles, which typically revolve around one central character (e.g., Cecil in FF IV, Cloud in FF VII, Zidane in FF IX), to the detriment of the supporting characters. Though Tina/Terra was the star FF VI, the other characters were given nearly as much attention, and the game is all the better for it.
- My all-encompassing sense of isolation and general alienation from humanity:
There was a period — that ran from my high school days and for several of my post-graduation years — where I often questioned how concrete my sense of disconnection really was. Were people as fundamentally different from myself as I believed? Years of experience and continual self-exploration have proven, that yes, most people do not live as I do, most people do not share the same values I do, though I cringe at using the word, “values,” since I don't really have any, and reserve the right to break or follow my so-called values at any time for any reason.
This is not to say I am all that remarkable. On the contrary. I'm not radical. I don't have an exotic lifestyle. I'm not a hardcore, carbon foot-print diminishing tree-hugger, even though I do agree with the many of the aims of the environmental moment, despite my failure to live up to most of them. I'm not a survivalist living off the land, walking the earth, and getting by only with what I need, though I occasionally wish I were. I look like everyone else. Talk like everyone else, but exist on the margins, the squishy, unremarkable, but distinct, center, between the cracks of society. It's a “meh” life, but also the only one I've known.
However, every so often, I encounter accurate and/or self-affirming representations of either my experiences or of that vague abstract that I consider, “me,” but these instances are rare and typically only apply within a specific context. At best, they are damn good approximations. For example, both Freaks and Geeks and My So-Called Life are two painfully short-lived shows that have most accurately represented my high school — and, to a lesser extent, middle school — experience on the small screen… but not entirely. I don't mean this literally. Obviously, each person's life experience will differ. But there are certain issues, specific layers of nuance and maladjustment, that I grappled with that I haven't seen played out anywhere. To alleviate this, I decided I'd talk to myself and post the conversation in the off chance someone who felt an inkling of what I felt might take comfort in knowing there is at least one other person who understands (however imperfect that understanding may actually be). And that, maybe, by understanding, might want to engage in some form of dialogue about it. Given this site's lack of a user comments functionality, along with the aforementioned dearth of readership, this seems highly unlikely, since the only way to have such a dialogue would be through email, which is, like, so 1990's.
To quote Grosse Pointe Blank: “There is no us. We don't exist.” I know that I am part of specific, occasionally overlapping, demographic groups. I know that I am a consumer. I know that I am dependent on all the infrastructure that makes things like the Internet possible, and that I stand on the shoulders of all those who have gone before me. And though it sometimes feels as if it would be easier to forget, I know that I am “the same decaying organic matter as everything else.” But I don't feel meaningfully connected to anything or anyone. I am neither fish nor foul. Though I may be designated American on my passport, the only time I feel this way is when I actually find myself in another country. Within the borders of the “homeland” I am a tourist. A stranger among strangers. A man without a nation… except this one right here, in my head. - A Need For Check-More-Than-Sum Validation: Sometimes, the only way to be certain I am myself (whatever that means) and not merely a self-projected reflection of all the ideas and opinions I consume on a daily basis, is to regularly exercise my ability to think for myself by doing just that, through the written word, and if I determine that whatever I have said is both cohesive and interesting enough, posting those thoughts here.
Beyond my egocentric need to rail against, or ride with, the tides, as the case may be, I desire an audience for other reasons.
Sharing is caring. I gravitate towards inertia, but when I take the time to fully articulate an idea, I consistently find myself mentally energized by the process and more fully engaged with the world. I also tend to gain a deeper appreciation of other people's work, whether it be their writing or music or whatnot, and, every now and then, through this new perspective, glean some sort of newfound understanding of how things work. It may sound naive, but my experience has been that the secrets of the universe (in a manner of speaking) are frequently just a few keystrokes away from being deciphered. It just takes a little honesty with one's self, generous doses of effort, and a lot of persistence. The opportunity to experience this and relay my thoughts to someone receptive to them makes this practice feel more meaningful, thereby increasing the likelihood that I'll bother to go through all the trouble in the first place. Which brings me to my other reason for all this: motivation.
Creating content that total strangers might stumble upon motivates me to produce said content in a less leisurely pace than I am normally accustomed, and ensures that what I post is the best possible work I can offer. It's amazing what the thought of another soul paying attention has done to improve the quality of my output. Throughout my journey to hone my skills, whether as a writer, photographer, or would-be designer, I have found no method more effective than creating a personalized space with which I can present my work for the rest of the world. Maybe the idea of an audience is like the idea of being in love: more appealing in theory than in practice, but even if that turns out to be the case, it's a notion I'm better with than without.